


Latch

by potluck



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: College/University, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Excessive Drinking, Excessive Use of "Bro", Jealousy, Like really slow, M/M, Oblivious Craig, Oblivious Dadsona, Pining, Roommates, Sexuality Crisis, Sharing Clothes, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, time skip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-09-13 17:03:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16896540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potluck/pseuds/potluck
Summary: College is probably the best time to figure out you’re a mess.(Or, How Craig Cahn Learned that He Wasn’t 100% Straight & There are Just Some Things You Don't Do with a Bro.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE tell me if there are any errors. I'm rly anal about em. 
> 
> ANYWAY, based on the dialogue between dadsona and Craig in the game, I'd like to think that they were both kinda wild, fun, and jock-y back in college (w/ how much they mention parties and hangovers, i'm p much gonna fashion this fic how my college life turned out). 
> 
> Beau's (as in, "Bo") the dadsona, and i have this headcanon that he used to be pretty athletic and a go-with-the-flow type (this is, in part, from the choices i made in the game), along w/ going through all those crazy shenanigans w/ Craig. His awkward, lazy nature in the game is like him finally chilling out after the hectic life of college. At any rate, there's gonna be a time-skip, so it's not a total college-au fic.

“Bro.”

Craig grunts, halfheartedly swatting at whatever’s been tugging at the hair on the back of his head.

“C’mon, bro, you gotta wake up.”

There’s another tug, this time crueler. Unfortunately, all it does is stir something deep in Craig’s gut and he feels the beginnings of morning wood pressing against the mattress. He groans, half in arousal, half in frustration, when the sound only earns him a throaty laugh—a promise, his drowsy mind registers, that the perpetrator won’t let up.

“Craig, man, you better get your ass up or we’re both gonna be late.” Beau’s voice persists through the sluggish fog that’s continued to keep its hold around Craig’s head. A hand pulls at his hair again but follows it up by ruffling the locks and scratching at the scalp underneath. It’s meant to be slightly appeasing, and it definitely works—like a cat, Craig can’t help rumbling deep in his chest at the sensation and curling up, positioning his head closer to the touch rather than sprawling out on his belly, buried underneath the pillows.

Somewhere nearby, he can hear Beau laughing again before the scratching and the hand suddenly withdraw. Evidently this had been part of his plan, because the minute Craig changes his position, he’s assaulted by light.

“Ugh!” hissing, he pulls his hands up to cover his face. The dorm room’s filled with the unholy rays of the sun. It’s obviously the work of Beau, who’s sat next to him on the bed still grinning. But when Craig deigns to finally stop shading his eyes from the sun and actually look at his roommate, he realizes that despite Beau’s concerted efforts to wake him—

“You look like shit, dude.”

Beau bares his teeth at him. “Speak for yourself,” he rebuts easily. His floppy hair is sticking up in all sorts of odd angles, and he’s got killer bags underneath his eyes that Craig’s sure he’s mirroring. The party last night had been a real rager, lasting until 4 in the morning—but maybe staying up that late hadn’t been a good idea on a weekday. Now they’re stuck feeling and looking like hell for class.

Still, Beau’s smile shines sparklingly white, and Craig wants to hit him suddenly. It’s unfair. “You’ve got, like, five minutes to shower, and another five to get to class. You know, the one in the West wing, across campus.”

“You memorize my schedule, bro? That’s so sweet.” Craig can’t help teasing, flopping one arm haphazardly onto Beau’s lap. To do what, he hasn’t quite figured out.

“Uh, yeah, after all the times you’ve texted me where your classes are so I could bring you all the shit you keep forgetting.” Beau gets up after mercilessly shoving Craig’s arm off him, snorting when Craig only snickers. He’s already grabbing some books up  and stuffing them in a bag that looks oddly similar to his own.

Which, Craig realizes, it is.

“Bro, that’s my bag!”

“Yeah bro, I’m claiming it as my own,” Beau shakes the backpack at him. “You puked on mine last night, remember?”

Craig winces. “Righttt. I’m really sorry about that.” But the darker teen is already moving around the room, shoving his feet into some dirty sneakers and waving a hand in his general direction. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, it’s why I, uh, seized one from your closet. My hostage, so to speak. You gotta get that bag to the cleaner’s, dude.”

There’s a pause in the conversation as Beau continues picking stuff up here and there, shoving them into the backpack he’s claimed for himself. While the guy isn’t necessarily the sluggish, lazy type, he’s flitting around quickly enough that Craig picks up that he must be in a hurry. Craig checks the alarm clock they keep on the table between the heads of their beds. Huh.

“You already went to practice, bro?” he asks, and after ensuring that his accidental boner has calmed down from the hair-pulling earlier, he rolls until his feet finally find the carpet.

He stretches and realizes only distantly that he’s in his boxers and a shirt that definitely belongs to Beau. It’s a bit tighter around the shoulders than what he’s used to, and has the logo of some soccer—‘ _Football, puta’_ Beau’s irritable voice automatically pipes up in the back of his head—team that his roommate’s head-over-heels for.

He has a second left to wonder why he’s wearing it before Beau’s also making a sound of surprise (something that sounds awfully like a squeak), eyes on him. “I, ah. Yeah, I did.” He answers, and then coughs, turning back around to grab some earphones off their shared desk. “I slept like, two hours, before heading out to the field.” Inexplicably, Craig can’t make eye contact with him as he keeps shuffling things around.

Something—another voice, but an insecure one that he’s ignored for the better part of the year that they’ve been roommates—tells Craig that he should give the jersey back, then and there. Either Beau’s irritated that he’s wearing his clothes again, or Beau’s irritated because it’s his favorite one.

But they’ve never really had a problem sharing stuff, as evidenced by Beau easily ‘taking hostage’ of one of the extra bags he keeps lying around. It’s gotten to the point that it’s almost natural for them to attend lectures and get-togethers with friends in each other’s clothes or using the other’s belongings. The most either of them have complained about the other stealing clothes is when he stretched out Beau’s practice jersey (“I like wearing them tight, dude!”), and Beau had accidentally brought home a ton of his hoodies for the holidays, thinking they were his.

So Craig doesn’t bother apologizing, or giving back his jersey. Beau’s got plenty for all his training and games with their university’s soccer club, it’s not like he’ll miss this one. He yawns again, getting up and dragging his feet towards the bathroom.

“Man, I don’t know how you do it. Party till four, soccer at eight. But hey, thanks for waking me up. When’s your class end?” he asks instead, grabbing his towel from a hanger on the door.

  
“S’just an hour-long lecture, thank god. So I’m out at eleven.” Beau seems to pause from grabbing some pens left on the floor next to their fan. Neither of them know why they’re there, and neither of them comment on it. “You wanna have a bro-brunch after?”

Craig makes a show of thinking with one hand held up to his chin, and the other slinging the towel over his shoulder. He hums for a bit, before pumping his fist. “You even have to ask? Sure, bro!” His brain, however, painfully reminds him that his lecture won’t be done then. Christ, why did he think signing up for a three-hour-long class in the morning would be a good idea? “Oh wait, sorry, bro, could we make that a bro-lunch instead? I’m done at one.”

“Yeah dude, no problem.” His roommate, seemingly done with getting all the things he needs for class, finally turns to look him in the eye again. Despite his tanned skin, Craig can still see the tips of Beau’s ears are pink though he can’t fathom why. “But seriously, you better shower already. You’re gonna be late.”

“Got it, mom. See you after class?”

 “You betcha.” And with that, Beau’s zipping out the door and leaving Craig to shower and hurry to class on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consider this a prologue lmao


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching to dadsona's POV because as much as I like writing an oblivious character like Craig, it’s tiring. Still, I hope the weird, ‘that’s not normal bro-havior’ tension they’ve got going on was made obvious enough last chap.

The hour’s up before Beau can even really comprehend the lesson.

But that’s something he’s grown accustomed to in the three years that he’s been in university, and his personal dedication to nabbing a seat at the _very back_ of the classroom is a sure contributor to the ever-present feeling of stupidity. It’s just _so much easier,_ he thinks, to zone out when you’re running on two hours of sleep, and the residual endorphins from that morning’s training have dried out. He’s pretty sure there’s still some alcohol thrumming through his veins too.

He waits for the bell to stop ringing and for the majority of the class to shuffle out before even making for the door. Without Craig, he’s always preferred to keep to himself, avoiding unnecessary conversations with classmates whose names he never remembers—the only exceptions have been his teammates in the soccer club, but they barely have any lectures together with all of them varying in year level.

Craig, on the other hand, gets along fine with others whether he’s there or not—it’s not something Beau has ever found strange, just that his roommate has an uncanny talent in “bringing out the wild” in him, as Craig liked to say. Come to think of it…

Beau pulls out his cell phone.

‘ _You in class?’_

He doesn’t even have to wait a minute.

‘ _Had to run all the way mom :(‘_ Craig’s text reads. Beau snorts at the little emoji placed at the end, before there’s another vibration from his phone. ‘ _How bout you? You done?’_

He taps out a quick reply, before getting distracted by a loud call of “Bro!” from some frat-boy he realizes Craig introduced him to last night during the party. He’d thought the guy was too smashed to remember him so he’d promptly decided he wouldn’t have to either, but evidently he’s proven wrong. They fist-bump, and frat-boy strikes up a conversation, much to Beau’s chagrin.

“You done with class, man?”

“Yeahhh—” Beau replies, wracking his brain for a name, and failing. “—dude.”

Surprisingly, the frat-boy laughs instead of getting all huffy and puffy like Beau had expected. Despite not remembering his name, Beau realizes he’s seen the guy on the field from time to time—he’s definitely not part of the football club, or else Beau would have known about it, so it must mean he’s part of another varsity. Lacrosse, maybe?

“Beau, dude, don’t sweat it,” the frat-boy says. “I know I didn’t leave the best impression last night—I’ll have to thank Keg-Stand for introducing me when I was already out of it—so I kinda figured you wouldn’t remember me.” It seems like he’s made it his mission to surprise Beau; he sticks out his hand. “Let’s start over. I’m Alex.”

Some grumpy, coffee-lacking part of Beau’s brain wants to ask “Why do we even have to start over? Why do we have to introduce ourselves again?” but his momma had taught him to be more polite. Plus, this is Craig’s buddy. He knows Craig’s probably befriended about more than half of the campus by now (and him, by extension—he’s pretty sure the lot of them know him only as “Craig’s bro”, outside of his teammates) but it still won’t do him any favors to show his cranky side to anyone else but his roommate. He’s already awkward as it is when the other’s not around. 

“Uh, okay,” he tries for a laugh. It sounds fake even to his own ears, but Alex only grins at him, white teeth shining against dark, freckled skin. “I’m Beau. Nice to meet you…again.”

From there, it’s astonishingly easy to start chatting away with Alex, if only for a couple of minutes. The awkward mix of trying to piece together what exactly had gone on in last night’s party through their hangover-induced haze, and Alex’s insistence on walking together _wherever_ are enough to make Beau laugh—not because they’re having a particularly _good_ conversation, but Alex’s earnest effort to be buddy-buddy with him is endearing. 

The guy—apparently _not_ really a frat-boy, although he is part of the soccer varsity, the very one Beau’s made sure his club avoids on account of some deep-seated competitiveness between them—is even shameless about it, chuckling alongside him as they make their way through the hallways. It’s a refreshing change, to say the least. Beau hasn’t necessarily gotten tired of Craig (he honestly wishes that were the case; instead he feels like he’s gotten clingier), but there are moments he wishes he’d made friends with more people who look at, and stay with him because of _him,_ and not just because of his roommate.

Their conversation, however, is abruptly put to a halt when Beau’s phone starts vibrating loudly in his pocket.

“Hold on, sorry, I think someone’s calling me.” He says apologetically to Alex. The darker teen shrugs, tells him to go ahead just as two other students pass by and he gives them both fist bumps in greeting. Beau checks the caller ID, and thinks, ‘ _Speak of the devil.’_

“Craig? Shouldn’t you be in class right now?”

There’s the sound of his roommate’s long-suffering sigh on the other end. “Bro! You weren’t replying to my texts. I was already using you as a distraction during class, but you let me down! So I stepped out of class, said I had to go to the bathroom.” There’s a long, kind of awkward pause. “Why didn’t you reply to me?”

Beau can’t help letting out a guffaw—just when he’d thought he was clingier, here comes Craig trying his best not to sound needy. At his other side, Alex’s interest seems to be piqued and he mouths at Beau, _“Craig?”_ Beau nods.

“Sorry dude, one of the guys you presented to me to last night caught me just after class. Alex?” he offers the phone, and Alex obligingly calls out, “Hey Keg-Stand!” before Beau returns it to his own ear. “We’ve just been trying to remember what the hell went on during the party. Also, turns out he’s on the soccer varsity? Why the hell are you friends with him?”

There’s a strange space of silence on the other end of the line, one which Alex fills by snickering at Beau’s lighthearted tease, before Craig seems to pick up that he’s supposed to say something. He’s not sure why there’s any hesitation at all, but maybe his roommate’s busy hiding from a prof in the hall? “Ha! Yeah, it’s why I made him meet you. You really didn’t remember what I was saying last night, huh? Anyway, why are you guys together right now?”

“No reason, really. But hey, I’m planning on getting a little more sleep back at the dorm while you’re at class. You okay with picking me up after, or should I meet you wherever we’re gonna eat?”

“Nah dude, it’s cool. I’ll pick you up. I’ve still got your jersey on, but it’s a bit too tight. I’ll change again.” Beau scowls into the phone even though he knows the other can’t see him.

“C’mon bro, why didn’t you change after your shower in the first place? One, that’s gross. You _puked_ last night. Two, do I have to remind you that you stretch my shit out every time?” Alex raises an eyebrow at him but otherwise minds his own business, looking around and giving out the obligatory “Hey”’s and “Yo”’s to the friends that pass by.

Craig laughs, sounding not nearly as apologetic as he should be. “Sorry, sorry! I just forgot to get my laundry done! And hey, in my defense, I didn’t puke _in your jersey_. I changed into it _after_ puking. I remember that much from last night.”

“Ugh, okay, whatever dude, just come wake me up once you’re done. And get back to class already, you delinquent.” Beau ends the call to the sound of Craig cracking up again. He turns to Alex with a sheepish smile, about to apologize for taking his sweet time on the phone, when he sees Alex giving him a strange, contemplative look. “Uh. What’s up?”

Alex hums. “You and Keg-Stand Craig are _really_ close, huh? Like I figured as much during the party, but. Is there something going on between you two? I’ve heard a lot from different people, but it’s mostly the girls who like to think—”

And this. This is the moment that Beau’s been dreading, but knew would come eventually. He’s never been particularly good at hiding his feelings, and he makes things worse by choking on thin air. He can already feel his face start to heat up, undoubtedly turning redder and redder as each second passes where Alex continues staring at him in equal parts wonder and bafflement.

The thing is.

The thing is Beau’s not exactly secretive about his sexual preferences, despite the atmosphere around _that_ topic. While he never really made it a point to go around telling everyone in extensive detail of how _gay_ he is and how much _he loves dick_ , he definitely doesn’t hide it either. He’s a junior in college now, and has had his fair share of hookups during and after the parties he and Craig attend—by extension, Craig knows. To his credit, he’s never made a big deal out of it either, asking him if he had crushes or people he’d like to bang just like any other bro.

But the thing is, Beau’s never quite been able to be completely honest with him—how the hell is he supposed to tell his roommate that he’s, maybe, just a teensy-weensy, little bit, _very much_ attracted to him? And while, hell yeah, he’d been open WITH Craig on whether he made out with this guy, or slept with that guy, the topic of _him AND Craig_ is something he’d never, and will never, touch even with a ten-foot pole.

The thing is, he’s pretty absolutely sure Craig is straight, judging by all the attention he enjoys receiving from his multitudes of ‘female friends,’ and Smashley in particular.

But Beau’s not dumb—and this also wouldn’t be the first time that the concept of them being a couple had been broached. With the amount of time they both spent in the dorm together, only to pop out wearing one another’s clothes or talking like old, domestic spouses, there’s bound to be talk. Plenty of people have teased them about it, but Craig’s only ever laughed it off, and Beau’s only ever been able to join in after a truly cringe-worthy moment’s hesitation.  

“Christ, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—,” Alex flounders, and despite his dark skin, Beau can see him turning red as well. “My friends always tell me I’m too nosey and blunt, and shit, I don’t mean to, like. Pry? I swear I was just wondering. You really don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. And I’m not just saying that. I’m definitely, cross-my-heart, not trying to pressure you either by doing that whole, manipulative, ‘Oh, you don’t have to’ like I’m trying to guilt-trip you into—”

Despite his large stature, Alex stutters and rambles like a nervous, prepubescent girl faced with her crush. Beau lets out a nervous guffaw and claps a hand onto his shoulder, finally done with his own mini, embarrassed breakdown.

“I. Look, you really took me by surprise,” he snickers, still giddy with their laughably awkward exchange. “But no, there’s really nothing going on between us. We’re just bros who are…closer than most, I guess?” The pink flush on Alex’s cheeks hasn’t quite left, but he smiles at Beau looking remarkably refreshed and happy—about what, Beau can’t quite tell. But he finds himself averting his eyes, feeling suddenly shy.

“Oh, okay. Just…was wondering.”

A swift, mutually agreed-upon change of topic to avoid further embarrassing themselves is made, and they go back to talking about inane things, all the while strolling through campus. From soccer (“Football.” Beau automatically replaces, and Alex’s eyes widen in glee before he repeats after him, louder) practice, to teammates, to their next classes, to whether they actually like their courses, and to the crushing sense of dread that only upcoming senior thesis can bring, they chatter away.

Eventually Beau sees that they’ve neared the dorm and he’s got about an hour and a half left to nap before Craig’s finished with his class. He tells Alex that this is his stop, and he should probably get going, but not before Alex fumbles his cell phone out.

“Oh yeah, hey, thanks for putting up with me all the while. We should hang out again. You mind giving me your number so I can hit you up again some time?”

It’s the not the first time Beau’s been asked for his number, so he’s not about to make it a big deal. Besides, technically, it’s just another bro, a mutual buddy of his and Craig’s now. But it _is_ always nice to reach that level of friendship. He rattles off his digits while Alex makes a contact for him and saves it.

“What’re you going to do before your class?” he asks, just as Alex is finished. The bigger teen shrugs, pointing back over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ll probably grab some food.”

“Huh. Next time you should have lunch with me and Craig. It’ll be fun. Sorry I can’t really stick around now, I just gotta sleep for a bit.”

He’s met with a bright grin that he’s just beginning to see is a trademark of Alex’s, one that seems to have gotten him into the good graces of many of their schoolmates. Phew. Looks like Craig’s got competition for Best Smile on Campus. “Really, bro? I’ll take you up on that offer one of these days!”

They say their goodbyes before Alex—weirdly enough—heads back to where they’d come from, whistling, and Beau wrenches his eyes away from the retreating back to hurry into the dorm and up to his and Craig’s room. While he’d been energized by the new, admittedly exciting presence of one not-frat-boy who seemed happy to just keep him company, the fact remains that he’s running on two hours of sleep not the least of which has been depleted by an hour of training and another of class.

He slides into the closest bed as soon as he manages to lock the door and promptly falls asleep.

&&&

Craig manages to wake him in record time by flopping down onto the mattress with him, and growling, somewhat menacingly, “That’s my bed, bro.” directly into his ear.

From there, it’s easy enough for Beau’s eyes to shoot wide open in alarm—and then for his mouth to follow with a loud, ungraceful screech when he finds that Craig’s arms are at either side of his head, effectively trapping him and putting them at an _uncomfortable proximity_ , from which he has no escape. Until Craig falls over to lie at his side again, belly-laughing so loudly that the sound of it fills the room.

“You asshole!” But Beau can’t quite stop a sleepy, slightly annoyed smile from creeping up onto his face, all the while doing his damned hardest not to recall Alex’s words. He makes to bury his head again under the pillows but Craig’s already flipping back around, wrapping a large, warm hand around his bicep and tugging until he has no choice but to turn over onto his back alongside Craig.

“You should’ve seen your face! Jesus, I thought you’d be—I don’t know—a little surprised, maybe a little excited, like wow bedroom intruder, take me now. But you screamed!”

Feeling his face start to heat up once more, Beau thumps the back of his hand onto Craig’s exposed chest. It’s hard enough for his roommate’s raucous laughter to peter out into wheezing, and just enough time for him to sit up without Craig’s manhandling. “Yeah, yeah, drink it up. C’mon, let’s grab something to eat already. I’m hungry.” He grumbles, ignoring Craig the minute the Asian-American recovers and resorts to cooing apologies and making grabby hands at him for a reconciliatory hug.

With the promise of food on the horizon, they both make quick work of gathering all the needed books and other school supplies for the next couple of classes after lunch. Leaving the dorm still takes twice as long—rough-housing notwithstanding, a haphazard search for a clean item of clothing is fruitless, and Beau eventually deigns to lend Craig one of his oversized hoodies to wear instead.

By the time they manage to stumble into one of the nearby, admittedly sketchy pizzerias, there’s about forty minutes left for lunch. Eating quickly has its advantages though, and they talk about their respective classes in between bites of the greasy, triple-cheese slices.

“Oh,” Craig pipes up, licking his fingers clean of some oil. If anyone else had done the same, it would probably seem grosser, Beau thinks, but his mind supplies it with other imagery. He quickly refocuses on his own pizza. “What did Alex want with you, by the way?”

“Hm? Ah, I don’t really know, bro. We just started talking after class, and then he asked for my number so we could hang again one of these days,” Beau explains easily, distracted by the stretch of the cheese as he tears another one from the rest of the pie. “I told him he should grab some lunch with us next time. I think he’s got the same breaks as we do.”

Again, there’s a weird breadth of silence that spans between them, long enough that Beau pauses in his awe-filled examination of their food to look at Craig. Craig’s got his own eyes directed at the pizza on the table, but he’s staring at it so intensely that Beau has to wonder what his roommate finds so interesting in it. Sure, it’s delicious, in a mind-bogglingly disgusting, heart attack-inducing kind of way—but they’ve eaten in this particular diner often enough that he doesn’t think it should warrant this much scrutinizing.

“Bro?”

Craig snaps out of it. “Ah, nice one dude. What’d he say to that?”

Oookay. That’s definitely an attempt at playing it cool if Beau’s ever seen one. He scrunches his eyebrows together, ducking his head a little to try and make eye contact with Craig. “Uh, I mean. He seemed pretty excited about it. You alright?”

And just as quickly, Craig’s suddenly flashing him one of his dangerously handsome smiles. “Yeah, bro. I don’t know, I just got this kinda weird, tingly sensation in my chest for a sec, but it’s all good now. Must be heartburn from all the pizza,” he says before letting out a loud belch, followed by a “Yup, that did it.”

Beau laughs, shaking his head. “But anyway, we should invite Alex to hang too, yeah? He seemed really cool. I’m surprised you hadn’t introduced him yet.” He pushes. Craig shrugs, picking at the crust that he’d left uneaten for Beau to grab instead. “I only got to drink with him a couple of times before that, and even then I didn’t really talk to him. He was always with the varsity crowd, and I know you don’t really like them.”

“Hey, I’m loyal to my club, that’s all. It’s not about liking or disliking. It’s about who steals our equipment even though the school funds their shit!”

It’s Craig’s turn to laugh. “I still don’t get why you don’t just join them, bro. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the soccer club people are all nice. But you’re good enough to be on the varsity. At least you won’t have to worry about people getting your stuff or stealing your time on the fields.”

His roommate just doesn’t get it. “I don’t play to get all aggro with people from other universities,” Beau lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I play to _play_ , bro. It’s just for fun, for relaxation, you know. The varsity’s like…like the Big Leagues, and I don’t wanna get stressed over something that was supposed to be fun.”

They continue to go back and forth, with Craig’s #1 fallback being on his utter disdain to take anything seriously, even his pastimes, and Beau’s being the other’s inability to have fun without involving alcohol or parties in some shape or form—it’s all lighthearted, despite the digs running deeper and deeper as their lunch break ticks away. The unspoken truth between them is that if anyone else were to bring the same shit up, they would probably be throwing hands and getting suspended for all-out brawls.

But it’s just the two of them. And for all they know each other’s worst personality flaws, they’ve continued to stick together for the three years of college. Through thick and thin.

When they finally finish their grease-filled lunches and make their way to the one class they’d managed to get together, it’s an even easier slide down routine. The two of them greet the friends they pass by, the classmates they know (and Craig laughs off the girls’ giggled teasing and gesturing between them, and Beau winces when they point out ‘Hey, wasn’t Beau wearing that hoodie last week?’) before finally plopping down in their non-assigned—but technically still theirs—seats at the very back.

Craig pulls up the hood until it’s covering his messy black hair, the cloth just partially hiding his eyes. “Wake me up when the prof gets in.” he says, before slumping over on the desk. One of his hands, the one closer to Beau, is exposed, the sleeves unable to contain his longer limbs.

Beau gets out a marker from his (Craig’s?) backpack and starts to doodle on Craig’s knuckles. His roommate only reacts with a slight twitch, but otherwise starts snoring softly into his folded arms. It’s only when Beau has gotten around to covering the third knuckle with dark ink—a crude drawing of a penis riding on a space ship now adorning them—that he realizes Craig had never really answered him about inviting Alex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking on changing the focus per chapter, but that might be too messy? 
> 
> On another note, this chapter is so looong and im so sorry. will try to shorten them from here on out, and add more craig - this was just a way to flesh out the characters more. also, tada, alex from the game!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that thing I said, about having shorter chapters? I LIED. This is fucking LONG and in Craig’s POV instead. I debated on dividing it into several chapters, but I felt like it would take away from the flow. Anyway, this is a self-indulgent MESS leading up to a time skip, so. If a lot seems to be happening suddenly, it’s because that’s how it’s supposed to be. Again, I don’t wanna stay in their college years for too long. you've been warned

Contrary to popular belief, Craig Cahn is not dumb.

Okay, maybe he’s a little bit on the dense side, but. He’s not dumb! Sure, the nickname he’s earned himself throughout campus, “Keg-Stand Craig,” may leave a lot to be desired, but he’d like to think that he’s more self-aware than what most people seem to give him credit for.

He knows, for example, that—hang-overs and average, below-average grades notwithstanding—he’s actually doing pretty well in college. He’s got a solid social life going on, being invited to hang or party almost every other day, and there’s a strange excitement that thrums through his veins each time he manages to get a marketing or management class. In the back of his mind, he’s starting to feel like he might actually be interested in, and good at something _academic_ and worthy of a career; maybe he can run a business in the future. Selling what, he doesn’t really know yet. But it’s a start.

He also knows that, even without the multitudes of friends he’s managed to pick up along the way, he’d gotten extra lucky with Beau and Smashley. They’re his two absolute besties, the people he knows will be there for him even when he’s not performing some party trick like his titular keg-stand drinking, getting high, or just generally making bad life decisions. It helps that they love each other to death as well, enough that they even got matching piercings and go to male strip clubs together on the regular.

Although the latter still stings—he’d thought his and Smashley’s thrilling flirtationship would start redirecting her eyes to certain, more interested parties, a.k.a. HIM—Beau needs a buddy for his particular interests. Who is Craig to try and hold them back?

Plus, how many people can say that their best friends get along, _and_ they don’t have to worry about feeling left out?

“I don’t want to study anymore,” Smashley groans, flicking an eraser in Craig’s direction. Craig scrunches his eyes closed from where he’s got his chin resting on an open textbook, and accepts the slight twinge of pain that bursts between his brows. A direct hit.

Across them, Beau scrubs at his own face. “You’re telling me. It’s already the second test of the semester and I’m still stuck on the topics for the first.”

The three of them share a tired cackle that quickly earns  a round of shushes from the other, exhausted library-goers. They’ve managed to find a relatively secluded corner table, but with the days heading into the thick of the semester, a Hell Week™ on the rise—profs handing out tests, papers, and projects more and more often—the “seclusion” is still inclusive of plenty of other students.

Craig’s only a little relieved that his and Smashley’s tests are 48 hours away. Beau’s got one tomorrow, so pestering him should be completely out of the question. He isn’t necessarily what they call, “grade-conscious,” but the fact remains that he definitely puts a hell of a lot more effort into his studies than either Craig or Smashley do, and Craig would hate to be a worse influence on the darker teen than he already is.

But Craig is—maybe a little, tiny bit—needy as a bro. This is one of the little flaws he can and will shamelessly acknowledge about himself, but only because part of it can be blamed on Beau. His roommate usually spoils him. He hasn’t gotten the proper amount of attention he’s grown accustomed to, so he puts one hand atop the notes Beau’s been re-reading for the past half-hour.

Beside him, Smashley snickers and tries turning it into a cough when a student in another table glances over at her.

“Dude.” Beau grits out, eyes still stuck to whatever Craig had managed to cover.

“Yeah?”

“You mind?”

“Not at all, bro.” Craig gives a warm, sickeningly sweet smile just as Beau looks up at him. There’s a muttered curse before Beau attempts to shove his hand off, only for Craig to move faster and take his in a strong grip instead. Now they’re stuck in the strangest stare-down with their hands clasped like they’re about to shake or arm wrestle.

“Oh my god, get a room you two.” Smashley drawls.

And just like that, they simultaneously let go of one another. Craig watches as Beau huffs and leans back into his chair, tan ears pink, before shoving his hands deep into the pockets of sweatpants—sweatpants that look an awful lot like the ones he’d bought and promptly forgotten about last semester.

It wouldn’t be the first time Smashley’s teased them about their little bromance. Again, Craig Cahn is not dumb. He knows he and Beau are largely known for that, and he’s always been fine with it. He’s threatened and punched enough bigots in school for everyone else to be fine with it too.

But for whatever reason, Craig can’t find it in himself to carry on as normal when she’s the one bringing it up, feeling suddenly, inexplicably shy. It’s obvious Beau thinks the same, because they always immediately drop whatever they were doing. Now is just one of those times, but Craig’s suddenly struck with the notion that maybe he shouldn’t be so touchy with his bro in front of the girl he’s been trying to date for the past three semesters. Shouldn’t he focus on trying to be more touchy with _Smashley_ and not Beau? Wait, that doesn’t sound right.

Craig refocuses on the notes and textbook spread out in front of him instead, putting that particular line of thought to a halt.

The minutes start to tick by as each of them have varying success with studying. At twenty, Smashley’s taken out her phone and started playing solitaire. At forty, Craig’s joined her, switching between pestering her (somewhat quietly) and trying to get in a few wins of his own. At fifty, Beau’s suddenly reaching for his cell too, but only because it’s started vibrating loudly on the desk. The three of them collectively ignore the “Shh!” sent their way by some skinny kid in glasses scurrying past.

“Hello?” Beau tries whispering, but he’s interrupted by Smashley leaning over their table and speaking into the phone instead. “Beau, we said we’d stop at meth!”

Craig covers his face to stifle laughter. His roommate just manages to wrestle it away, but it looks like it’s already too late—when Beau presses the phone back to his ear, he’s turned beet-red and Smashley’s grinning at him like a Cheshire cat, evidently waiting to see just who had called him. Even if it’s Beau’s parents, Craig knows, for a fact, that they wouldn’t even believe their son capable of such a thing. He knows. He’s tried.

“I’m _really_ sorry about tha—what? No! No, you’re not interrupting anything. It was just a friend, messing around,” Beau’s still blushing. He flips Smashley off, which renews her and Craig’s poorly muffled laughter. “I’m just in the library, actually. Yeah, I guess I am talking kind of loudly right now. But, yeah, okay, let’s not...hang here. O-oh, really?”

 _That_ piques Craig’s interest. He leans over the table alongside Smashley now, trying to get close enough to hear the voice on the other end of the line. Who the hell is Beau talking to?

“No, really, I can just meet you there. Are you sure? Um, well, okay. It’s the one near…yeah, you got it. Okay, see you.”

Beau ends the call, right before sending a particularly vicious glare towards him and Smashley. They’re both still kind of in his personal space, Craig close enough that he can nearly boop their noses together, and Smashley making a concerted effort not to accidentally lose her balance and fall into his lap. But Beau raises his hands, index fingers resting on both their foreheads, before pushing them backwards.

They fall back into their respective seats, with matching looks of unbridled curiosity.

“Who was that?” Smashley asks. It’s not that he hasn’t gotten any other friends besides them—despite what Beau himself seems to think, Craig has it on good authority that actually, _a lot_ of people like his bro. Beau’s just way more shy than he lets on, isn’t as open to hanging with others outside of a small, tight circle.

But of the people in that circle, Craig knows that he’s usually the one they call and message first to hang. Evidently Smashley had noticed this as well, and is immediately interested in the one exception to this rule.

He does, however, remember said exception just as Beau answers.

“Alex. We’re probably gonna grab some coffee and study at his place. I think you met him last, last week?”

“Ohhh yeah,” Smashley crosses her arms, thinking. “During Cody’s ‘movie night.’ Wasn’t he the reason you couldn’t go with me and Keg-Stand to Oktoberfestival and then Taco Tuesdays?”

“I mean, technically, yeah. But you said Oktoberfestival was just a cheap, American knock-off Oktoberfest anyway, and that it was in the ‘world’s sketchiest barn.’ Plus, I’ve been to every Taco Tuesday since we were, what, freshmen?” Beau pauses, counting on his fingers. “You guys bailed on me for at least seven Taco Tuesdays.”

Smashley pouts. “So does that mean you’re bailing on _us_ now? But we were being productive students!”

“I’ll be a productive student elsewhere with _better_ company. I deserve to hang with someone who doesn’t leave me taco-less and company-less on Tuesdays!”

Inexplicably, Craig feels something twinge in his chest. Since Alex had gotten around to reintroducing himself to Beau a month and a half ago, they’d hung out on two occasions—but they have training together in the mornings, the varsity and club dividing the university fields, so Craig knows they’ve seen each other way more often. There are also days that Beau invites Alex to their bro-lunches, which Craig normally wouldn’t have minded. He’s gotten other people to join them too, before.  

But he never explicitly invites Alex. He can’t bring himself to, for whatever reason, but Beau and Alex continue having their conversations like nothing’s amiss anyway. Which, nothing is. Except Craig’s been getting a regular, weird ache somewhere in his rib cage that he can’t just keep blaming on heartburn from bad food choices every time Alex is around.

“Hope you have fun, my dude,” he tries for light-hearted instead, wiggling his eyebrows. Ignoring the twinge is getting easier as the weeks pass by. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Beau grins at him just as Alex comes around the corner of one of the bookcases hiding their table from plain sight. “Bro, what even _won’t_ you do?”

Alex greets them in a stage-whisper and offers to buy him and Smashley coffee and to deliver them back to the library. It’s a gesture that’s purely out of good will, not even just to suck up to them because they’re Beau’s friends—Smashley rolls her eyes, equal parts endeared and annoyed. Craig makes to shoo them away, but not before catching Beau’s eyes and seeing his roommate suddenly wink. There’s a subtle head tilt in Smashley’s direction, who’s by now distracted by the various pins and patches on Alex’s green bomber jacket.

And, holy shit. Has Beau purposefully been bailing on them so that he’d have more time with Smashley?

He has a second left to wonder before Beau’s suddenly reaching forward, ruffling his hair, then Smashley’s, and then he and Alex are loping towards the library exit. It’s quiet in the few seconds it takes for them to vanish among the bookcases, and for the telltale sound of the doors closing.

&&& 

Much to Craig’s chagrin, the semester’s Hell Week™ goes about as smoothly as one would expect—which is to say, not at all.

Several nervous breakdowns, two papers past the profs’ deadliest deadlines, a test he’s absolutely sure he’s failed, and an innumerable amount of caffeinated drinks later, he’s just about ready to call it quits. Death is welcome; at least the eternal slumber would give him just enough rest to make up for all the all-nighters he’s pulled. 

To top it all off, the study session at the library is the last time he’d been able to have a solid conversation with Beau. The few times he and Beau were in their shared room or breathing within one another’s general vicinity had been spent in stressed silence—or what could constitute for it, as either one of them would be muttering terms to themselves or reading something aloud. And all the other times? Beau had been out with Alex, apparently content to study in his new friend’s apartment. So Craig had followed his lead and gone to Smashley’s, if only to avoid their suddenly empty-feeling dorm.

Sure, going six days without talking to a roommate isn’t entirely out of the ordinary—Craig’s got plenty of friends who can go weeks and even months ignoring the other inhabitants of their homes—but again, Craig’s clingy and spoiled rotten by Beau’s near-constant presence. He’d initially been happy to spend all his time flirting and reviewing with Smashley, but a couple of hours in and he eventually found himself wondering what Beau was up to instead.

So the minute he’s finished with his last test and finally crawled out of the lecture hall, his phone’s in his hand. Maybe he’s a little excited? And also, like, extremely sleep-deprived, but it’s six on a Friday night, and he’s going to hang with his bro no matter what it takes. He sends off a series of texts.

‘ _I’m free, my breau!’_

_'Get it, its your name, but like, bro'_

_‘What about you?’_

_‘Where are you?’_

_‘bREAU’_

He has to wait for a good half-hour, wandering through the halls like a dead man vaguely returning greetings to friends he passes. Beau’s never been big on texting overmuch, but he’s also not the type to leave people waiting—Craig almost assumes his roommate’s busy with some other, last-minute requirement, before he gets a response.

‘ _Hey! Just finished too. With Alex and some other friends from my old ska band right now, pre-gaming for Tina’s party later. You going?’_

And, okay. Craig is fully aware that Beau’s perfectly capable of having a social life that doesn’t involve him—but he’s a bit hurt that he hadn’t even factored in the other’s plans for the night, despite the time apart. Tina had already invited him to her thing later, of course, but Craig had been prepared to come up with some weak excuse and turn her down, just so that he and Beau could be couch potatoes, watching weird history documentaries. It’s what they’ve been doing for the past couple of years after a Hell Week™, but…

‘ _Yeah,’_ he texts back. ‘ _So I’ll see you there?’_

‘ _Hell yeah bro.’_

Craig puts his phone away and lets out an exhausted sigh.

&&&

A quick shower, change of clothes, short nap, and then some shots at another friend’s, Tanner’s, place—and Craig’s back in the zone. He’s gotten himself just buzzed enough to forget that he’s soul-cripplingly drained, physically and emotionally, from studying and writing papers. Hell, he’s gotten himself buzzed enough to start wondering why the hell he’s going to another party and not just sleeping for the whole fucking weekend. But he’s never bothered trying to make sense of why he does things.

So he barges into Tina’s party, arms around Tanner and some other dude whose name he’s already forgotten, themselves flanked by other people Craig doesn’t even try remembering. They’re making a huge ruckus of their entry, and it’s just right—the party’s in full swing anyway, so being just loud enough will get them all the attention that being late didn’t.

Craig makes his usual rounds, “Bro”-ing at boy and girl alike, smacking some backs, making dirty jokes at others, chugging some more alcohol. There’s a point where he’s almost coerced into doing another keg-stand, but then he’s being pulled along by Nora—or was it Lisa?—towards the long tables at the other side of the house.

“Hey, you better watch over your roommate—some sophomores got wind of him being called Beer Pong Beau, and now they’re totally wrecking him. He’s drinking all of the cups on his own.”

Maybe it’s the amount of shots and cans he’s consumed in such a short amount of time or maybe it’s the initial high of entering a good, rowdy party, but he doesn’t immediately cotton onto what Nora-Lisa’s saying.

He  registers “Beer Pong Beau” because it’s the shitty nickname Beau had earned himself right around the time he got “Keg-Stand Craig.” But unlike him, Beau’s had been short-lived; as a freshman, he’d impressed others with getting nearly all the cups like a fucking dagger, ping pong ball shooting into each of them fast and mercilessly. But it was always when it was down to the last cup that Beau would choke, and he’d miss enough that his opponents would eventually catch up and beat him.

Needless to say, the nickname never stuck—but it had a good run, and Craig still likes to use it to tease his roommate from time to time. He doesn’t have to wonder about what Nora-Lisa means any longer, though, because she gives him a shove towards one of the long tables.

Immediately, Craig’s eyes zero in on Beau—his bro, his best friend, his home-slice who he hasn’t seen in so long—but he’s jumpstarted into sobriety a little when he sees the other leaning against the table, and the group of boys on the opposite end. They’re jeering at Beau, and even with his tan skin, Craig can see the telltale flush of inebriation on him. Which, no wonder, because Beau’s down to three cups while the boys (presumably the sophomores Nora-Lisa had mentioned) are down to one.

But he’s apparently chugging the latest one to fall victim to a ping pong ball. There’s a ton of other red cups at his side. Jesus, just how much did Beau drink? Why didn’t he have a partner? And who the fuck were these kids?

Craig growls and stalks forward, catching Beau just as he’s slipping down from the table. “Dude, what the hell,” he starts. He’s not really _mad_ at Beau, per se, but his roommate’s always had better sense than him. One look inside the cups and anyone can tell that it isn’t just beer inside. Beau looks up at him with a dopey smile that somehow makes him even more flustered. “Why are you playing against these losers alo—”

“Hey!”

It’s one of the sophomores. A guy just a little shorter than Craig, baseball cap backwards and bouncing a ping pong ball in one hand. He looks every bit like the douche Craig used to look like—and arguably, still does—in his second year. But Craig knows the kid’s and his friends’ game. Trying to look cool in front of all the other upperclassmen by beating one at beer pong and getting him shit-faced. Craig’s not an angry guy, but he definitely feels _something_ , seeing the smirk directed at Beau.

“You gonna help your friend there? It looks like he needs it.”

As if deaf to the taunt sent his way, Beau grabs at Craig. “Bro! Where have you been! I’ve been looking everywhere for you…” he trails off, almost sadly. Craig rolls his eyes, wraps a steadier arm around the other’s waist, before turning to the sophomore.

“Hey, man, didn’t anyone teach you how to play fair? What, you’re making him drink all this shit on his own because you guys can’t?” he gestures to the other boys behind the kid, which earns him a round of giggles and snickers from the crowd that’s starting to look on at them.

“Whatever dude, he’s the one who didn’t get a partner,” the guy says, visibly ruffled. “Besides, we thought he wouldn’t need one. Isn’t he Beer Pong Beau?”

“I used to be!” Beau clarifies.

“Look, just forget it, find someone else to play with.” But suddenly a ping pong ball is soaring through the air, gently lobbing into one of the three cups in front of him. The crowd “ooh”s and “ahh”s, and the kid sends Craig and Beau an angry grin.

“Are you scared of losing to us or something?” he asks, gesturing for Beau to drink.

Craig stops him, grabbing at the cup instead and then downing its contents in one go. He barely resists making a face—shit, what was in there? Some fucked up mix of Jäger, beer, and maybe something else? Beau’s staring at him, wide-eyed, and so is the rest of the crowd and the stupid sophomores.

Before Craig can think too much on what he just drank, he grabs at the ping pong ball and then whips it into the remaining cup at the opposite end. There’s another, extra ball in one of the emptied cups at Beau’s side, so he gets that one too, aims, and sinks it alongside the one he’d just thrown. “Sorry, bro.” he says, to the delight of the crowd who whoop and holler.

Craig drags Beau out through the throng, content to let the rest of them give the sophomores shit.

&&& 

“Dude, what the hell was that?” He continues, once he’s managed to pull Beau into a relatively secluded corner of the house and down onto a tiny, cramped couch. He slings an arm over the other’s shoulders to make the couch a little less tight.  

There are only a few other people in the otherwise spacious room—some kind of den, for movies or video games maybe—but they’re all giving the vibe of being in their own worlds, either talking quietly or smoking up. Craig can see one girl crying in the corner, and another girl rubbing at her back.

“Hey, they challenged me first,” Beau counters. His speech is slurred, and the way his eyes are half-lidded, staring hazily up at Craig from where they’re pressed together, side-by-side on the couch—it’s doing strange things to Craig. “Just came up to me’nd Alex.”

Speaking of which…

Craig coughs. “Where is he?”

“Who?”

“Alex, bro. I thought you said you were with him.”

“Oh,” Beau blinks. He then rubs at his face, and Craig can see how bloodshot his eyes have become. Good to see he’s not the only one who went to this party already wrecked. “He, uh. Had to leave. Kinda got into a fight with some seniors, one of ‘em was being creepy to a girl friend. He punched the guy, but then Tina told him to lay low, ‘else someone might report him.” His roommate made a vague gesture. “Can’t get caught causing trouble or he might get kicked off the team, you know?”

Holy shit. Craig whistles, a little impressed. “At least your boy toy has a spine.” and then he immediately regrets saying anything at all. It’s not like they’ve ever been weird about crushes, but he hasn’t really explicitly pointed at Alex being Beau’s, much less referred to him in a casually condescending tone. Well, cat’s out of the bag now. He doesn’t even know why he’s been stepping around the topic, but Alex has been a difficult subject for him since the guy started to take up all of Beau’s time.

But Beau only laughs, punching at his shoulder—it’s a little awkward, considering they’re stuck together from shoulder down to ankles. “Oh my god, he’s not my boy toy.”

“If he’s not your boy toy, then what is he?”

And. There’s a strange pause in the conversation, one that Craig inexplicably feels is charged. Beau still looks buzzed, still looks pink and soft around the edges from the alcohol; but his eyes, framed with long lashes that Craig’s always taken note of even without their present proximity, are a little bigger than normal. He’s looking at Craig, and despite the unmistakable air of inebriation he’s exuding, Craig suddenly feels that he’s being examined. Beau’s got a weird, unreadable expression, one that looks guarded, and something else, something he can’t quite place.

“…Well. I don’t know. I think I want him to be more than that. But we haven’t really…like, we’ve just been hanging out a lot.”  

Craig shrugs, trying for nonchalance and knowing he’s failing spectacularly anyway. He feels hot, all along the side where Beau’s pressed up—Jesus, Beau’s a human heater—and nervous, for whatever reason. “Where’s the confidence, bro? Isn’t hanging out a lot a good sign? He likes your company.”

“Normally I’d say yeah, but let’s face it. It’s a bit…harder to tell. For me, I mean. If he’s actually into me because he, you know, is into guys too, or if he just sees me as a…” Beau quiets, suddenly, and his face turns even redder. Craig hadn’t even thought it was possible, but his roommate has somehow managed it. “Bro.”

“Yeah?”

“No, I mean, about him. I don’t know if he likes me because he’s gay or because he just sees me as a bro.” he clarifies, squirming a little. Craig shifts as well, tries to focus on Beau’s heartfelt words and not the feel of his legs against him, the swell of his hip that’s got Craig bending to give his roommate space—and hoo boy, isn’t that a thought, that tiny waist Beau’s got, hugged by a ratty, thin t-shirt, but hips and thighs thick enough with meat for him to have to adjust, the result of equal parts soccer club and binge eating—

Wait, what?

“—Like, don’t get me wrong, I wanna say I can tell he’s interested. But I can’t really, you know?”

Craig shakes his head. Alcohol, it’s the alcohol. He’d just missed his bro so much, probably. Projected it into sexual frustration, maybe, after not getting any for so long. Despite his background, Asian flush has never been an issue with him—until now. Or it’s the heat from where they’re squished together on this damned couch. He can’t tell anymore, trying to string together a coherent sentence to show Beau he’s _listening,_ and totally not being kind of gross and overly conscious of his best friend.

“Well, why wouldn’t he be? Interested, I mean.”

“…Dude, did you not just hear me? It’s _complicated_. He might be _straight_. He might not even be attracted to guys in general, much less to me.”

“I get it, you’re worried he’s straight. But have you even talked to him about it? Besides, who _wouldn’t_ be attracted to you?” Craig smacks his lips. Liquid fucking courage—he’s banking on it. “You’re hot as hell, bro. Anyone with a brain would want to get into your pants.”

Oh, shit. Had that sounded like a come-on?

Judging by Beau’s sudden, bewildered stare, all hints of intoxication gone, it had. If he thinks really hard about it, Craig realizes there’s a hint of resonation in his own questions directed at Beau.

But that’s not right, is it?

Is it?

He wants to play it cool, smile at Beau and stand by what he’s said like an eager-to-please golden retriever—totally innocent and totally not projecting some weird “what-if”s into their conversation. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s laid it on thick for one of his insecure buddies. But this is Beau, and he can’t. Beau just keeps looking at him, shy, flustered, and Craig really can’t blame him because he’s abruptly feeling the same.

“I, uh,” he blurts. “Gotta piss.” And then, like a coward, he pops up from the couch and makes a beeline for the door, without another look back.

Because Craig Cahn is not dumb. He may act like it sometimes because he’s too lazy and carefree, but. He knows. He knows that his being touchy-feely, flirty, and just generally needy with his best friend had crossed a line at a certain point. That being fine with all those rumors about him and said best friend may actually be because he likes the way it sounds—him AND Beau. He knows that feeling down when said best friend goes out with a potential paramour even though a crush had been around isn’t exactly normal. That even though Smashley makes him plenty happy when she’s around, he always finds himself wondering about Beau as well.

And he also knows that he isn’t quite ready to think about what all that means to him.

He’s never claimed to be smart, or mature. It’s why he can acknowledge these things, but never figure them out. He’s just self-aware. Self-aware enough to know that his head’s a serious mess right now, and Beau’s got everything to do with it. And maybe the extreme sleep deprivation, and all the alcohol.

Craig leans against the hallway’s wall, presses his palms to his eyelids. Breathe in, breathe out.

No, he can fix this. He’s got this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rewrote this whole thing a fuckton of times. but ye i have this HC that craig’s totally smarter and more observant than he lets on, buttt. He's still in his "Keg-Stand Craig," aka Hot Mess days.
> 
> (on another note, if anyone's still reading this, i used a bit of my own experience w the beer pong scene. im p good up until the last cup - not like, nickname-worthy level, tho i can hold my own - but an ex of mine would always get it like it was a piece of cake. 
> 
> idk if everyone else plays this way, but usually when it's the last cup, u have to sink a ball in twice, otherwise the other team can shoot until that second ball gets in.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we’re back to dadsona’s/beau’s POV

Now Beau may be leaning towards drunk rather than tipsy, but even he can tell when Craig’s questioning slowly transitions from lightly curious to downright flirtatious and double entendre-y. In the aftermath of his roommate’s sudden run for the door, however, he’s left on the couch at a loss for words, feeling like he’s somehow missed a Very Important™ point in their conversation.

The inebriated, foolishly courageous part of Beau wants to believe that, maybe, Craig had been hinting that he’s totally got the hots for him. Like, hell, why else would he put that “Anyone with a brain would want to get into your pants”-bit? It’s the most obvious answer.

But the other part that’s pined for Craig since they were dumb, kind of gross-looking freshmen, that’s also known Craig to be as straight as an arrow— _especially_ after spending three years awkwardly standing around while his roommate flirted with girls and eventually got hooked on Smashley—puts forward that it can’t be that simple. If it was, he’d have picked up on it a long time ago.

Craig had always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and attraction (romantic or sexual) was also a topic Craig had never had difficulty talking about. It was how he found out Craig had a, in his eloquence, “raging boner” for Smashley in the first place.

Not once had his roommate ever mentioned a crush on a guy. Sure, there had been stray compliments here and there, usually to help a bro feel better about themselves (“You’re the smartest dude I know!” and “You’ve got a nice face, man. Chicks dig you.” being the typical ones, usually said during finals weeks and Valentine’s Days) but he’d never explicitly expressed interest in any male.

Beau shakes himself out of his stupor, slapping at his cheeks afterwards when it doesn’t seem to work. He can figure out the weird conversation he’d just had later, preferably when he’s sober. For now, his mind refocuses on the fact that the room’s still spinning, and Craig is still missing. Huh, that rhymes.

So instead, he waits—and waits, and waits, and waits. Looks around at the other occupants of the room, only just now processing what they’re all really up to. No one else seems to have even noticed what had transpired between him and Craig; for the most part, they’ve continued with their individual activities, chatting amongst themselves, smoking. The girl in the corner, Beau takes note, has stopped crying, but now she and her friend have started making out instead. _‘Okay,_ ’ he thinks to himself, turning away. ‘ _Let’s not be a creep._ ’

Eventually, however, twenty minutes have passed with no signs of Craig Cahn. Tina’s house isn’t particularly big, and there are only three bathrooms in its entirety—two on the second floor, where they are now, and one downstairs—so Beau quickly concludes that finding Craig is probably a more entertaining activity than watching people he doesn’t know get high and/or smack on each other.

He gets up from the couch and makes his way outside.

The hallway is relatively empty compared to the rest of the house, but it doesn’t take long for Beau to find where everyone else is. Inconveniently, the multitudes of drunk, horny, and crossed students have all amassed near the two bathrooms where Beau goes searching.

The first—inside the master’s bedroom, yikes, good luck Tina—has its door already ajar as two guys hold up a pal who’s puking his guts out into the toilet. There’s a small group of friends looking on and cheering too, but when Beau asks if any of them has seen Craig, they all give negatives before returning to their strange “show.” The second bathroom on the floor is locked tight, and only a few people are standing around, too drunk to really pay attention to anyone else. So Beau goes to knock on the door himself and ask for his roommate, before he hears loud moans coming from inside and a tell-tale _thump, thump, thump_.

Oookay. Neither of the voices he hears are Craig’s, thank god, though they do sound like Tanner and someone Beau thinks _might_ be his teammate in the football club. Was it Grant? Beau resolves to ask him about it another time, and then staggers downstairs to continue searching.

It takes him longer to find the third bathroom. A couple of friends approach him and offer more shots, more alcohol, and one slightly slow, “what about weeeed?” only for Beau to decline as politely as he drunkenly can. And then some complete strangers once he manages to squeeze into the throng of people, with one girl sneaking a kiss onto his cheek and giggling madly and another guy leering at him as he passes by.

By the time Beau manages to find the last bathroom, it only just now enters his head to ask around for Craig instead of going for the various lavatories in the house. Either way, it doesn’t matter because he sees that it’s empty even some five feet away.

Beau pauses, squints, and then pulls out his phone to send a quick message to his roommate though he knows its fruitless. Craig had this strange personal philosophy that anyone checking their phone during a party was either “Not Very Fun,” or the party was “Not Very Good”—which isn’t the case at all this time around, but Beau will take his chances.

He then makes a quick round of the floor, pushing through various people and shouting “Have you seen Craig?” over the music at the few friends he catches.

One friend, Ellie, manages to tell him, “Oh, I thought you left with him!” from her perch on her boyfriend’s shoulders and it confirms what Beau had started to suspect along with the sinking feeling starting slowly from his chest, down to his stomach.

Craig had ditched.

Which, shouldn’t really be a big deal because they’re _roommates_ , it’s not as if they’re attached at the hip—except they kind of are, and Craig had never really left a party without him. Even when they had both gotten wasted and blacked out, their friends had told them they’d somehow managed to stumble back to their dorm together, arms linked and singing loudly into the night.

Point is, they never bailed on each other after a party. Beau tries not to let the idea rile him up so much, but alcohol and a terrible temper is never a good combination. It’s a bad idea for him to continue staying anyway, when both Alex and Craig aren’t around for him to cling to.

“Hey, I gotta go,” he tells Tina, once he finds her sitting on the kitchen counter. She’s looking up at him with red eyes and a dazed expression. “Thanks for the invite but I’m gonna crash now.”

“Oh, thanks for coming too—” She stops suddenly, eyes wandering up over Beau’s shoulder. “Uh? Where’s your boyfriend?”

“What?”

“Keg-Stand. Or are you dating Alex now? Wait…where _is_ Alex?”

Beau scrubs at his face, feeling both too shy and not drunk enough to have this conversation right now. “I’m not dating either of them, and Alex left awhile ago. He said bye to you too. Craig is…I don’t know.”

Tina only giggles, cupping Beau’s face in her dainty hands and suddenly giving him a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Must’ve forgot. Bye Beau-babe, hope you had fun. Tell your not-boyfriends I said thanks too.” Beau shakes his head, tells one of Tina’s friends to stop with the brownies, and then stumbles back through the crowd, out of the house.

He walks the rest of the way back to their dorm, more than a little glad that Tina’s house is close to campus, but far enough that he can sober up on the way home. His and Craig’s room, however, is empty when Beau finally manages to stuff his keys into the door and throw it open to ask, “What the fuck, dude?”

Which is probably for the better because, in hindsight, having an outburst over being left behind at a party by your _roommate_ is kind of embarrassing. It’s not like Craig had told him they’d be leaving together. Still, this hasn’t happened before, so Beau can’t help feeling equal parts disappointed and worried, replaying events to see if he’d done something wrong.

He takes his phone out for the nth time that night and tries dialing Craig. While self-pity, doubt, and all the moping that the two bring have always been more his style, he also has to think of Craig’s goddamn safety. One of the dorm’s rules is to look after your roommate, after all, and Beau’s sure that—while said rules never accounted for roommates having very strange conversations that _seemed_ to imply a sexual attraction to one another—it’s expected that one has to forego all awkwardness if their wellbeing’s involved.

Still, no dice. Craig doesn’t pick up, but only two minutes pass before Beau’s getting a text from the guy himself, suspiciously soon after the phone has stopped trying to connect for a call. Beau fumbles a bit with the buttons, rushing to read through his messages.

‘ _Hey, sorry I bounced without telling you’_

_‘But am with Smashley right now. Don’t wait up ;)’_

Beau stares. And stares for a little while longer. And then some more until his eyes burn from not blinking and so he rubs at them with his one free hand.

Seriously? So what had been the deal with that talk they’d had and the…oddly-worded compliment Craig had given him?

 _But maybe that’s all it had been to Craig_ , a voice in the back of Beau’s mind supplies. _Maybe he’d just wanted to cheer you on with Alex. Don’t let a little dirty remark get to your head._

It’s the same voice that keeps Beau in line so he doesn’t go chasing after guys who want to experiment in their freaky college stage, only to ditch him for some girl down the line. The same voice that’s managed to stop Beau from getting too excited with the idea of him and Craig as something more, despite all the rumors and teasing that seem to surround them. And it’s the same voice that Beau hasn’t heard in a long while, choosing to ignore it when it starts transferring all the doubt and mistrust onto Alex, once they’d started hanging out more and more.

Figures it would pop up again the minute he starts thinking too much about Craig. Beau sighs, dropping onto his bed as he tries quelling the feeling of overbearing embarrassment.

&&& 

It’s not even noon yet before Beau’s jolted awake by the loud vibration of his phone going off, right next to his ear. _Fuck,_ his head hurts, his mouth tastes like stale beer, tequila, and ass and everything wrong with the world. And his phone is _still_ ringing. Distantly, he hears a tired groan from across the room and he’s reminded that he actually has to pick up the call to make it stop.

“What?” Beau grits out once he manages to open his eyes enough to hit answer. God, he’d thought he’d sobered up enough on the way home to prevent any hangover, even without drinking a shit ton of water.

“Where are you?” It’s Grant, from football club. Something is tingling at the back of Beau’s mind, something that isn’t a headache but a question specifically for Grant, though he can’t exactly remember why. “Let’s get food. I feel like I got run over by a truck. Is Keg-Stand with you?”

Those had been some complete non-sequiturs but Beau is just exhausted enough to let it pass. “Wait,” He shuffles around for a bit, wondering just when he’d gotten under the covers. Across the room, he spies the familiar, dark head of his roommate peeking out from a comforter, also curled up in his own bed. “Yeah, he’s here.”

“Great. Get his ass out of there and let’s all eat. It’s on me.”

“Why are you paying? Did you lose a bet or something?”

“You asshole, I’m a kind soul. I can pay for my friends from time to time. But,” There’s the suspicious sound of scuffling in the background on Grant’s end. “Okay, yeah, I lost a bet. Jesus. Do you want free food or not?”

“Uh, duh. Just say where.”

Grant rattles off the name of the diner they’ll be meeting at before ending the call with “Be there, fucker.” There isn’t really much else to say to that, and Beau has the creeping sensation that he’s going to be needing all the seconds he can get, rehydrating and trying to get the remaining alcohol out of his system. There’s also his prodigal roommate to worry about…

He rolls out of bed onto the (thankfully) carpeted floor, and the dull thump his body gives actually elicits a groan of complaint from Craig. Other than that, though, the lump underneath the comforter doesn’t even give a twitch, so Beau sighs before properly getting up and approaching his roommate’s side.

“Dude, hey,” he stage-whispers, grabbing at what he assumes to be Craig’s shoulder. “Wake up. Grant’s gonna buy us some food. Says he lost a bet or something.”

No response. Huh. Craig must have been really drunk or crossed last night. Normally Craig was up in seconds when the words “free” and “food” were put together within his vicinity, hungover or not. But now the other teen continues softly snoring, his dark, messy hair being the only thing visible to Beau. He gives his roommate a shake. “Craiiiiggg….”

Abruptly Craig jerks a little, enough to jostle Beau’s hand from his shoulder. “Mm, yeah, okay. Go ahead.” Craig’s voice is a deep, husky grumble of exhaustion—normally, something down in Beau’s pants would have reacted to it, but remembering what had transpired last night and hearing the uncharacteristically grumpy response, Beau’s a little put off.

Still, he remembers that everyone’s allowed their off-days, even the unusually cheerful Craig Cahn. He tests the waters, one more time. “You sure, bud? Grant rarely buys anyone anything, you know…”

“Yeah, yeah. Just lemme sleep, bro.”

“Uh, okay.” Beau scratches at his head, taking out his phone to send a message to Grant that Craig was going to be a no-show this time around. He receives a _‘the fuck? U sure this is keg-stand we’re talking about?’_ just as he’s getting out of the shower and looking for clothes to wear.

Grant’s on the same line of thought that he is. Despite his wild nature during parties, Craig’s always been a creature of habit, dead-set on making bad decisions, eating unhealthy food, and just generally having as much fun as possible at all times. He was never one to refuse going out, put simply. But maybe something had happened last night with Smashley, Beau thinks. At least, that’s what he tells himself so he can stop fixating so much on Craig and get on with his own social life, despite whatever had happened between them right before Craig had ditched him at the party.

“Well, I’m off.” He calls out, making for the door in his own sweatpants and tee for once. Something tells Beau that now may not be the best time to go rifling through Craig’s stuff for clothes looser and more comfortable to wear.

Craig doesn’t reply, but Beau can see the lump on the other bed stop moving slowly up and down for a second. Huh. Had Craig woken up?

But when Beau gets no other response from the other teen, he shakes his head and continues his way out.

&&& 

Unfortunately, this seems to be the beginning of a pattern in his interactions—or lack thereof—with Craig. For whatever reason, Beau suddenly finds that he can’t catch his roommate for some Bro Time™ over the weekend, and then some.

At first, Beau doesn’t even notice. The news that Grant had actually gotten with Tanner (with this being the very subject of said lost best, as apparently the rest of the football club had known about their hookups except for Beau, _what the hell_ ), coupled with some study sessions, coffee breaks, and pizzas with Alex to make up for lost time during Tina’s party, and Beau’s head is kept unusually busy.

But come the next Friday night and Beau still hasn’t been able to talk to Craig, much less see him in their shared room, Beau starts to wonder if something really is up with his best friend. Luckily, by the time his last lecture for the day is finished and he’s managed to stumble back to the dorm, he finds the very subject of his thoughts there…packing a bag?

“Craig?” he starts, eyebrows raised as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. “You, uh…heading somewhere?”

Why is this awkward? They’ve never been awkward. But the past couple of days have been a little strange and bereft of the other’s company, and Beau suddenly feels, well. Awkward. He has literally no clue what Craig’s been up to. They haven’t even been texting.

God, why does he also feel like a teenage girl waiting to be noticed by her crush?

“Oh, hey bro,” Craig looks up from where he’s been haphazardly throwing in some clothes into a duffel bag. None of them are Beau’s, surprisingly. He has a sheepish, and unfamiliar grin on. “Crap, sorry, we totally forgot to tell you. I’m gonna be spending the weekend on a road trip with Smashley.”

Oookay. So there’s definitely something going on. Beau tilts his head, trying to hide the hurt at the thought that two of his closest buddies hadn’t bothered inviting him.

Maybe they’d started dating already? But why had they kept it hidden from him? He’s been a third wheel long enough, they could’ve at least given him a heads up…

“Oh, okay. Have fun, I guess.” He says instead, moving to drop into his own bed. He can feel Craig’s eyes following him, but when he glances up to meet them, Craig’s abruptly going back to picking through his pile of clothes and things, apparently sizing up what he should bring.

Now they’ve become the sort of friends who could spend hours on end in complete, comfortable silence. Living in each other’s back pockets almost 24/7 usually does that. But this, this isn’t comfortable at all. It’s weird, and the strange, unnaturally wooden conversation is still hanging between them in a way that Beau can’t understand.

What the fuck is going on?  

“So, um,” Beau cringes internally, trying to sound calm as he brings his legs up and stretches out onto his bed. “Did you and, uh. Smashley finally get it on?”

Craig gives him a fleeting look. “Yeah, dude. Sorry, again, for keeping you out of the loop. It’s just, you know. A lot of things have been happening lately, got swept up in the whole honeymoon phase.”

What? What honeymoon phase? He hasn’t hung out with Craig _or_ Smashley in approximately a week, not a month. How much different could they be together, without him? But Beau can’t begin to comprehend the inner machinations of straight couples, so he sinks down a little more in bed and links his fingers together, sighing. Resigned. Maybe this was how Harry felt when Ron and Hermione had started going out, Beau thinks to himself.

“It’s alright, I get it.”

He doesn’t.

The few times Beau had actually hooked up with a guy, he’d never hidden it from Craig or Smashley, and had always made sure to include them in any big plans he made. But he’s not about to throw a tantrum to Craig Cahn, just about the nicest guy he’s ever had the pleasure to befriend.

They continue with this cringe-worthy silence until Craig’s suddenly giving a little jerk as he starts to put something into his duffel bag. Beau tries not to pay him any mind, tinkering with his phone because at least that will make him _look_ like he’s busy, doing his own thing, and totally not overthinking whatever’s going on between them—but then Craig approaches his bedside, holding something up in one hand with that same, sheepish smile on his lips.

“Ha, bro, I was about to take this with me—until I remembered that it’s yours.”

And it’s…it’s his jersey. The same jersey Craig has stolen from Beau’s closet even though it’s too tight around his shoulders. The same jersey he’s stretched out from multiple wears, and the same jersey he’s never been too shy to take, let alone give back, despite Beau’s halfhearted protests. Again, they’ve always shared clothes like it was no big deal. Because it wasn’t. Isn’t.  

And yet here is Craig returning it like it is, like he hasn’t been hoarding all of Beau’s things since they first became roommates, and vice versa. Like it’s _embarrassing_ to be borrowing anything from Beau at all.

Beau takes the jersey from Craig’s proffered hand, squinting at it like it’ll bite. He has half the mind to ignore the _weirdness_ of this whole situation, to spit out his thanks and pretend that nothing’s amiss, but Craig hasn’t moved either. They’re both kind of just lingering in each other’s space, looking at the article of clothing.

Irritated, Beau sits up from the bed. Craig takes a step back, apparently surprised by his sudden energy, but Beau only holds up the jersey at his roommate.

“Craig, did I do something?”

“Uh—what?” Craig stutters, inexplicably pinker around his cheeks and nose.

“Look, bro, we’ve barely talked since Tina’s, and,” Beau feels tongue-tied, debating with himself if he really wants to reveal just how clingy he can be, or if there’s some sense to what he’s been thinking at all. Well, he’s already gotten this far…

“And. Something feels off with us. When you ditched m—I mean, left the party early to meet with Smashley, I didn’t really think much of it. I figured that’s when you guys hooked up. But, I dunno. Planning a road trip without telling me? I kind of feel left out. And now you’re handing back this old-ass jersey like you haven’t already claimed it for yourself for the longest time already. What gives, man? Did I do something to annoy you? ‘Cause it feels like I did. We aren’t…normally like this.”

Craig’s been steadily turning redder and redder the longer Beau talks, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Despite finally getting his feelings out in the air, Beau can still sense the awkward tension filling the room.

And of course, Craig tries dispersing it in the worst way possible.

“Uh…well, I’m really sorry you feel that way. I guess…I got too caught up in everything going on between me and Smashley?” he says it like a question, taking another step back and scratching at his head. “Again, I’m sorry we didn’t invite you, I’ll make sure to remember next time. But I just wanted to return the jersey before I forgot…nothing more. C’mon bro, don’t make this into anything bigger than it really is.”

And, Beau can hear apologies are coming out of Craig’s mouth, but it still sounds like he’s being insulted. Like it's normal for neither of them to talk for nearly a week, and like he’s really made all of this up in his head, and, okay. Maybe he has.

Beau doesn’t really know anymore. It’s his turn to blush, it seems, and he lets out a loud, nervous sigh before flopping back down into bed and closing his eyes. (Maybe he really has been the only one overly-attached in this friendship, a sinister part of his mind whispers.)

“…Yeah. Okay. Sorry for overthinking, then.”

In his heart, Beau’s never seen Craig in a bad light. Hell, if he was maybe a little more naïve, he might have even thought of his roommate as damn near perfect, for all his adrenaline junkie, hardcore partying ways. It’s the ridiculous, rose-tinted lenses of a crush, he realizes, but somehow even he can tell at this point that Craig’s doing that typical, macho bravado attitude of, “Nothing is wrong. Why must we talk about our feelings?” which Beau expects from any straight man, but never from Craig.

The worst part is that Craig hasn’t left his bedside. His eyes aren’t open, but he can still hear his roommate’s quiet breathing nearby, can still feel the discomforting closeness of his presence. The fact that he’s lingering, Beau thinks, is inexplicable proof that Craig’s aware, on some level, that there really is something that’s soured between them. And that he’d refused to acknowledge and fix it, for reasons Beau can’t fathom.

Beau pointedly turns in bed, putting his back to Craig. It’s an immature thing to do, he knows, but what else can he do at this point? He’s tried talking to the stubborn guy already, to maybe clear up whatever it is—not like it had worked.

Craig, though, seems just as confused as he is.

“Why don’t you change your clothes, Beau?” he asks. It sounds oddly shy, like he’s trying to get another conversation going. But it’s too soon after Beau’s little outburst, and just makes it seem like he’s making light of his concerns.

“I will, later. Just gonna take a nap.” is Beau’s clipped response. He can hear Craig’s sigh from over his shoulder, but just when he thinks Craig’s gonna speak up, admit whatever’s been bothering him the past week—he feels Craig quickly ruffle his hair before resuming with packing up.

At some point, Beau falls asleep. And by the time he wakes up, Craig has already left the dorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to clarify, Craig's not homophobic.......it's just that weird time where things like bisexuality weren't as talked about, so the boy's hella confused. 
> 
> and sorry for the lack of interaction lmao. im dying to write these two actually being TOGETHER as adults, but aughh us fic authors gotta come up with why craig and dadsona went their separate ways despite being roommates before at some point


End file.
